Marshmallow Fluff
by Ellislash
Summary: Nick's never camped out before, and Ellis is determined to fix that. ALL THE FLUFF. NxE, very mild language... and some dirty, dirty imagery if you're looking for it. Created out of Whole Other Story, chapter 8. I don't own anything Valve does.


_This is a heavily edited excerpt from Whole Other Story, chapter 8. Go read that, too!_

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><p>"How much longer will we be going north?" Rochelle asked, weaving through a tight clump of trees. Coach answered her with a light sigh.<p>

"Long enough that we'll be campin' out again tonight. After that? Maybe half a day 'fore we can see the highway."

"Oh man, I am _so_ makin' a fire t'night," Ellis exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "We c'n roast those marshmallows I found back in town an' tell scary stories…"

"We're _living_ a scary story, hotshot," interrupted Nick with a smirk. The mechanic wasn't discouraged in the slightest.

"Yeah, but we only got zombies! I know one 'bout a haunted lighthouse…"

"Ex_cuse_ me? If there's one thing we don't need, it's more horror," Coach declared firmly. "If I see you holdin' your flashlight under your face all spooky-like I'll make you eat it, you got me?" Ellis' face fell, but the older man grew a sly smile. "Roastin' marshmallows, though… You won't hear an argument outta me!"

Rochelle laughed as the two Georgians grinned in anticipation, and Nick's eyes twinkled mischievously.

"How did I _know_ you'd be on board with that plan, Coach?"

The old footballer turned on him in mock outrage, making the two younger survivors laugh even harder as Nick dodged playful swipes at his head.

Sunset began to threaten with longer shadows and reddening light. Eager to "do this camp-out _right_," Ellis called a halt so he could gather firewood before dark. Nobody much minded, and at Rochelle's insistence the other men unpacked enough food to create a proper hot meal. Meanwhile the mechanic broke up some branches, and quickly amassed quite a large pile of fuel. He even managed to find a few maple logs, to keep the flames alive longer than twenty minutes. Coach took appropriate precautions, clearing the area of pine needles to prevent things from getting out of hand. With all the soft, dry timber available, it was going to be one heck of a blaze.

Grinning gleefully, their young pyromaniac built up the fire and lit the kindling. It sparked and fizzed as it caught, and with incredible speed the whole pile began roaring. Ellis carefully prodded and poked with his weapon until the configuration was satisfactory, then sat back and took out his utility knife.

"Nick, Ro', y'all gonna want some?" he asked excitedly as he began to whittle down a stick. The orange light flickered on his face, and cast shadows from every muscle in his arms. The gambler made a show of thinking, just to tease, but his mind was already made up. The more branches the kid had to clean up, the longer his bicep would flex like that.

"Hmm… Oh, fine, what's the worst that could happen? I'm in."

While cans of stew and Spaghetti-Os heated in the coals they tortured themselves by discussing what they'd rather be eating. Coach wistfully expressed desire for baked potatoes and wiener dogs, drawing an appreciative groan from Ellis and a disgusted face from Nick. Rochelle detailed a recipe for chicken parmesan that could be made in a tinfoil packet, and got the men salivating. Nick - after considerable coaxing - reluctantly described the best risotto he'd ever had, which made them all even hungrier. Ellis was comparing the merits of mac-and-cheese versus mom's baked ham when their actual dinner finished cooking. It wasn't anywhere close to delicious, but the canned slop tasted much better heated up. They wolfed down their rations, careful not to burn themselves on the searing metal.

"Awright, y'all, she's ready!" Ellis declared when the heart of the flames showed hints of blue and white. The tall, bright orange streamers had died down to a slower, hotter burn, letting the night in a little closer around their camp. The mechanic passed out slender pointed sticks and ripped open a plastic bag full of puffy white marshmallows. He selected two, then passed the rest to Coach. The older man impaled one and took two for later. Rochelle also took two. Nick was perfectly happy to pass the bag right back to Ellis, but the kid fixed him with a look that made his heart double back on itself. Somewhere between pleading and disappointment, those blue eyes very clearly wondered why the gambler didn't want any dessert.

_Oh, go on,_ part of his mind urged. _You did ask for the stick. Just one, at least?_

Without looking away, the conman reached into the bag and extracted a marshmallow. Ellis' face instantly took on a joyful expression, and his attention returned to his own sugary victims.

Nick contemplated the object in his hand for a moment. He'd never liked food that was _too_ sweet, and these damn things were 99% high fructose corn syrup. But it made the mechanic happy, so…

_Eh, i__t's worth a shot._

He carefully pierced through the cylindrical confection and mimicked what he saw the others doing. It didn't seem that hard: just hold the stick and turn it every so often. Coach withdrew his from the flame when the formerly white marshmallow went pale gold and puffy. Ro' and Ellis cooked theirs for a little longer, until the poor things were thoroughly browned and blistered out of shape. Nick observed how they ate them, too. It seemed that the darker the skin, the more likely it was to slip right off and leave a molten glob of sugar behind…

"Watch out!"

Ellis grabbed the stick out of his hands and started to blow furiously on the fireball that had previously been Nick's marshmallow. When he'd put it out he returned the implement, chuckling at the carbonized lump at the end.

"Whew, man. Didn't think ya'd like 'em that way. Kinda expected ya'd make 'em perfect ev'ry time. Jus' pay attention ta th' fire, okay?" The mechanic settled back down as Coach and Rochelle laughed quietly.

Nick stared at his charred dessert, wondering where his focus had gone to keep him from noticing that it had started to burn. With a sigh he started to push the immolated glob off his stick, and swore as he promptly scorched himself.

"Ow!" He put the affected fingers in his mouth to cool down. Ellis glanced away from his second sugary sacrifice, and grinned at him.

"Oh ho ho! Ain't never done this before, have ya?" he kept his voice low so as to keep the humiliating fact private – not that it was at all effective. Nick masked his embarrassment with a disgruntled look.

"So what?" he grumbled.

"_So,_ I'll show ya!" Ellis scootched himself over and brought the bag along. "It's real simple, ya prob'ly jus' wer'nt payin' attention. First thing: don'tcha go touchin' what's still hot." He didn't include a disparaging nickname, but the chiding tone he adopted was almost as bad. Nick felt anger welling up inside, and the urge to dismiss the whole activity as stupid and childish; but then Ellis touched his hands, guiding them to the right place on the stick, and it all evaporated in the giddy spark of contact.

"This here's th' best spot, right over th' coals, see? Ya get th' most heat an' th' most control." The young man gently grasped Nick's hands again, positioning them so the newly mounted marshmallow hung in what was essentially a miniature oven. The gambler almost whined when Ellis drew back – he was more interested in the rough caress of his fingers than the lesson – but had enough self-control to merely nod and hold it steady.

"Now ya watch it real close. See where it's gettin' gold, there, on that side? Turn it so's it gets cooked evenly."

Nick peered at it, nearly blinded by the heat of the coals, and saw the slight color change. With smooth movements of his wrist he rotated it, and almost immediately another part started to caramelize.

"Good! Yer gonna get th' feel for it real quick. Use the color ta judge how much heat is gettin' to it on each side, an' ya move it if… Heh, like that. Pull it out."

Chagrined, Nick yanked another flaming mess out of the fire. This one he blew out himself, and waited before cleaning off the tip. It wasn't as badly burned as the first, and the blackened sheath easily slid away to reveal a sticky white core.

"Y'can eat that, if ya want," Ellis suggested. "Keith always liked 'em that way. But I'm thinkin' that was more 'cause he was impatient, y'know? Didn't wanna do it right, jus' heat 'em an' eat 'em."

Nick shook his head with a smirk, and finished wiping off his stick. The end result didn't interest him – the process, however, did. Ellis talked like roasting was an art form, something that required finesse to be mastered. Nick couldn't resist the challenge.

It only took three more marshmallows to produce something the conman felt was "perfect." Ellis looked on, proud and impressed, as Nick displayed a treat that was evenly gold on all sides, including the ends, and heated through so well that it was nearly melting off the stick. Delicately he slid it off, leaving no sticky residue on the wood.

"A gift for my teacher," he said wryly, offering it up on his palm. Ellis shook his head, grinning.

"Nuh-uh. The student's become th' master! That one's yers."

Nick looked down at his creation. Just one, right? And if it made the kid happy... _Here goes nothing._

A tiny moan escaped him as every pleasure center in his brain lit up like the Vegas strip. Wafer-thin walls crunched open to release a thick, semi-liquid heaven that filled his mouth and coated his throat with warmth. His eyes fluttered uncontrollably until he shut them, blissfully sliding his tongue through the slippery-sticky sugar. No, not merely sugar – it had transcended the earthly label. This was pure ambrosia.

When he swallowed and opened his eyes they were all three looking at him, desperately trying not to laugh. Nick immediately got himself together. He stuck out his hand, glared, and practically snarled his demand.

"Gimme the goddamn bag."


End file.
